


trust me to take you home

by hattalove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, M/M, The X Factor Era, Valentine's Day, there's a lot of feelings, they're really just being cute boyfriends that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hattalove/pseuds/hattalove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.”<br/>Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?”<br/>“Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.”</i>
</p><p>or, a clichéd tale of two boys in love and their first valentine's day together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trust me to take you home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [absolutelouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutelouis/gifts).



> happy valentine's day to all of y'all with and without significant others - have a fab one! 
> 
> i'm afraid you're going to have to suspend disbelief for this one just a little bit. they obviously weren't in the x factor house in february, and now... they are. sorry, don't hate me. absolutelouis, i really really hope you like this. i would've loved to write something longer, but unfortunately time got the best of me :( 
> 
> title is from [putting the dog to sleep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xg8Ckamh8Gw) by the antlers. enjoy ♥

“Louis,” a voice whispers. Louis swats an arm in its general direction, and grumpily turns onto his other side.

“ _Louis_ ,” the voice whispers again, giggling this time, puffs of hot air that break against Louis’s poor unprotected face. He tries to pull his blanket up higher, only half-awake, but something seems to be holding on to it. 

“Lou, come on,” the voice says, and through the warm, warm haze between sleep and waking, Louis registers the familiar way it rumbles. 

“Haz?” he mumbles into the pillow, desperately trying to hold on to the dream he’d been having, something involving a stadium full of people and Louis standing up on stage, singing to all of them. “What?” 

“You’re awake,” Harry says, excited, and in two seconds flat, Louis is being pushed nose-first into his pillow as Harry clambers up and into the bed, straddling Louis’s hips like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s unbelievably heavy, right in the spot where Louis’s spine is the most susceptible to breakage, but Louis can’t bring himself to tell him off. He’s missed Harry, is the thing, in the few hours since they’ve all gone to bed. 

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry leans forward, and plasters his warm little body all along Louis’s. His breath makes its way into Louis’s hair, ruffling it, and his hands sneak underneath the pillow to find Louis’s own and intertwine their fingers. “Lou, get out of bed.” 

“You’re annoying,” Louis drones, and gags a little at how absolutely _sweet_ he sounds. “What’s going on?”

“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.” 

Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?” 

“Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.” 

Louis turns over. It’s quite a feat, considering he has ten stone of boy lying on top of him, but the horror he feels is more important. 

“It’s _Saturday_ ,” he hisses. He’d been looking forward to sleeping in and rolling out of bed around noon – maybe hiding some of Liam’s things while he’s downstairs practising. Instead, he’s got a Harry sitting on top of him, grinning like Christmas just came early. 

“Hi,” he says, and Louis can’t help but soften a little at the sight of him. He’s actually wearing clothes for once, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that hangs off his neck and gapes at the collar, and his hair is sticking up in every possible direction. “Sorry. You can go back to sleep after, but right now you have to come eat.” 

He blinks exaggeratedly, eyes big and dark. Then, without warning, he leans down and gives Louis a peck. 

“Please,” he adds, and bites down on his bottom lip in a way that’s way too seductive for any seventeen-year-old. Something in Louis’s stomach flutters, and it must show on his face, because Harry gives him a grin, like he knows he’s got Louis wrapped around his finger. What a dickhead.

Louis yawns, and stretches the best he can. Around him, the dark room slowly comes into focus, Zayn’s snoring silhouette on the bed opposite him and their shared pile of clothes on the floor. It actually _is_ five in the morning, and Harry woke him up for breakfast, and Louis doesn’t think about how if it were anyone else, he’d have kicked them out of his bed already. 

“Give me a proper kiss first,” he grumbles and rubs his eyes. Harry complies happily, dimpling and leaning down again. He lingers when their mouths touch, this time, sucks on Louis’s bottom lip with that searing focus only he is capable of, an eagerness that never fails to make Louis’s knees go weak. Harry is so into him, for some reason, and this whole thing has been so intense and electric and _good_ that Louis can’t imagine ever stopping. 

He parts his lips and tilts his head back, fitting their mouths together, just enough for him to lick at Harry’s lips and get inside. 

“Hmm,” Harry hums. “ _Good_ morning.” He’s got a grin on when Louis pulls away, dimples big enough to swallow his face, and Louis wants to forget about breakfast and spend the hours before the house wakes up in bed with him.

Harry, apparently, is on to his line of thought. He slides off the bed, stands up and, with another cheeky smile, winks at Louis and leaves. The door stays open behind him, leading into the dark, quiet corridor. Louis sighs. 

Five minutes later, he’s managed to get himself into a pair of joggers that might’ve belonged to Liam, once upon a time, and is padding down the stairs. The house is so unnaturally quiet, and Louis feels uneasy as he follows the soft light spilling out from the kitchen. 

Harry is leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets and wearing a crooked little smile. “Come on,” he says, and reaches out for Louis. He seems a little sheepish now, unsure, and Louis’s newly found _reassure Harry no matter what_ instinct flares to life. He takes his boy’s hand, gives him a grin, and lets himself be pulled into the kitchen. 

It’s yet another room that looks absolutely bizarre without a good dozen people milling about, shouting over each other and throwing pieces of fruit. Instead, Louis walks in to dimmed lights and a table piled high with food. The radio is on, turned down with somebody’s tired voice on the other end reciting the first round of morning news, and Louis is immediately brought back to a conversation they’d had just a few days ago. 

_It’d be amazing, Lou_ , Harry had been trying to convince him, _just imagine it. I could make you breakfast every day. I’d bring you tea in bed. Move in with me_ please.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis from behind. “Do you know what day it is?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the shell of Louis’s ear.

Louis grins. “What do you think?” 

Louis does, of course, know what day it is. He has a whole plan in place, and once they’ve eaten breakfast and slept for a while longer, he’ll start worrying about how to keep Harry from finding out. 

For now, though, he’s going to enjoy his boy being incredibly sweet. 

“I think you’re being mean on purpose,” Harry says, and Louis can feel him try and arrange his lips into a pout. “Happy Valentine’s.” 

Louis leans back into Harry’s chest. It seems he can’t quite wipe his ridiculous smile off his face, no matter how hard he tries. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” he says, and pries Harry’s arms off of him, just enough so that he can turn around. Face to face, and in the soft light of the kitchen, Harry looks quite—angelic. Louis is allowed to think in words like that at five in the morning. 

“Anything for you,” Harry replies, so wholly and entirely serious, and Louis feels his heart stumble and skip a beat right inside his chest. He’s probably got the soppiest look on his face, and he leans in for a kiss while he recomposes himself. 

It’s so bloody _strong_ , this little thing of theirs. Louis has a real boyfriend for the first time in his life, and he often catches himself wishing it will also be the last. Harry is a hurricane in all the possible ways, has swept in and rearranged every last piece of Louis’s life, but the rubble he’d left behind makes sense, somehow. 

“That’s good to know,” he mumbles again Harry’s lips, grinning. “Now,” he says then, and takes Harry’s hand to pull him towards the table, “you’re going to feed me.” 

Harry cackles in delight. He sits on Louis’s lap instead of a chair, completely shameless and lounging like a cat, dimpling all over the place. 

“Hey,” Louis protests, even as he wraps his arms around his waist, keeping him safe.

Harry picks up a fork. “We can share,” he says, takes a sip of his tea and, with the sweetness still lingering on his lips, kisses Louis silent.

*

“You’re obnoxious,” Zayn declares around two in the afternoon, when the five of them have gathered in the kitchen to share a meagre lunch of overcooked pasta and a jar of pickles. Louis and Harry have been glued together for the past nine hours, and Louis feels absolutely blissful and relaxed to the core of his bones. He really can’t be bothered getting his hands off Harry – not when the lads have seen them in much more compromising positions.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Harry points out, and goes back to carding through Louis’s hair, dropping at kiss here and there. He’s holding a fork in the other hand that he points at Zayn, and spaghetti flies everywhere. He’s adorable; Louis squeezes his hip as he leans further back in his chair. 

“I think Zayn’s right,” says Liam, blinking sheepishly at Louis from underneath his fringe. “Not that you’re—that this—not that I’m not happy for you, and all, but it’s a little. Um.” And he blushes. Louis gets a tiny bit of satisfaction from that, and he feels simultaneously like ruffling Liam’s hair and riling him up some more. 

Harry, apparently, follows Louis’s line of thought, because he ducks down and latches onto Louis’s collarbone. Louis shrieks in an attempt to mask his surprised gasp, and shifts under the onslaught of suspiciously warm sensations in his general crotch area. Harry is shameless and bloody fit, and nobody can fault Louis for walking around half-hard at all times of the day – though he suspects that Liam doesn’t quite see it that way. 

And sure enough—“Lads,” Liam pouts. 

Harry pulls away. His lips are pink from the hours of snogging they’ve indulged in so far, glistening with spit, and his hair is a wild halo around his head. He looks so utterly, utterly debauched when he grins at Liam. 

“Just kidding,” he says, even as he very deliberately wiggles on Louis’s lap. “We can take this elsewhere.” 

And, without warning, he gets up and pulls Louis away. They stumble out of the kitchen to the sound of Niall cackling and Zayn’s quiet voice, probably trying to get Liam to relax. 

“Where are we going?” Louis whispers. He presses his back against the wall and looks dramatically out into the entrance hall, all spy-like, making Harry laugh. 

“Upstairs,” he says, and wraps an arm around Louis’s waist, “come on.” 

They run into Matt on the way up, but Louis barely notices his raised eyebrows – he’s already racing to catch up with Harry, half a flight of stairs ahead of him, and very distracted by his exaggerated bum-wiggling.

Their room is unusually quiet when Louis closes the door behind him, almost unsettlingly so. He’s so used to sharing the tiny space, the shouting and impromptu wrestling matches and throwing dirty clothes at each other, that seeing nobody but Harry there, stretched out on Louis’s bed, is an entirely new thing. 

“Hi,” he grins, and makes his way over.

“Oops,” Harry rolls his eyes, laughing, and opens his arms. 

Louis wraps around him, legs tangled and ankles bumping, hands intertwining on Harry’s waist. Harry presses tight against him, cuddles into Louis’s chest, and sighs contentedly. 

“What’s on your mind, Curly?” Louis says into his hair, inhaling the heavy scent of his shampoo. He feels calm, settled; like he could stay right here for the rest of the day and wouldn’t mind one bit. 

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs, with the smallest note of worry in his voice. Louis catches it immediately, already too used to the way Harry gets when he’s scared of something and trying to brave his way through it. “I just—you don’t think he really minds, do you?” 

Louis frowns. “Who?” 

“Liam.”

“ _Liam_?” Louis repeats, incredulous. “No, babe, he’s not—no. I don’t think he minds at all.” 

Liam is, in fact, one of the key components of Louis’s Brilliant Valentine’s Plan of Brilliance. He’d been quite excited about the idea when Louis had asked for his help. 

“He’s just—you know the thing he does, with his eyebrows?” He waits for Louis to nod. “I don’t like that. It’s like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, you know?” 

“I know,” Louis says, and squeezes Harry tighter. “I think he’s just worried about the band, is all. In case we broke up, or something. You know how he is.” 

Harry turns over, all boyish elbows, and looks into Louis’s eyes with thinly veiled concern. “You don’t think that’s going to happen, right? We’re not going to break up.” 

Louis has to do everything that’s in his power to keep from tearing up. Harry is so earnest, looks so young all wrapped up in Louis and looking up at him like he holds all the answers. He’s a star already, and Louis can’t wait to see him grow, to be by his side through everything their uncertain future will bring. 

“No, darling,” he says, and touches Harry’s face as gently as he can. “We’re not breaking up. Not the band,” he takes one of Harry’s hands and rests it on his own chest, “and not us.”

“Ever?” Harry asks, biting his lip, like he’s aware of how child-like the question sounds, and Louis knows, right then and there, that Harry is _it_. Knows that the certainty he feels couldn’t possibly be one-sided; knows that he’ll put every last bit of himself into fighting for Harry, for them. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he smiles, and presses a peck to Harry’s lips. “Don’t worry, Hazza. We’re golden.”

“So, like. Do you think…” Harry starts, worrying his lip between his teeth again. “Do you think we’ll spend the next Valentine’s together?”

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “Is this the Harry Styles way of asking someone if they’ve made a decision on moving in with their boyfriend?” 

“Maybe?” Harry grins, and the small gloomy crease in his forehead disappears. “But, I mean. You already said you will. Kind of.” 

“Kind of,” Louis repeats, and shakes his head. His heart grows a little bit right in his chest, like it always seems to these days, every time Harry so much as smiles at him. “Don’t be daft, Hazza. Of course I’ll move in with you.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, and he smiles so big his eyes almost close. “Okay. Sorry for worrying.” 

Louis shakes his head, and the fondness he feels probably spills out of every pore of his skin. He leans forward, going for a kiss. Harry meets him halfway.

*

Twenty minutes later, Liam walks in on Harry straddling Louis’s hips, attempting to snog the life out of him. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, shakes his head, smiles, and walks back out.

“Told you,” Louis whispers, already aching to get his lips on Harry’s again. 

“You did,” Harry nods. “Aren’t you clever.” 

Louis grins. “Do I get a prize?” 

The devilish smile on Harry’s face is answer enough.

*

“I don’t like this,” Harry says, even though Louis can feel him practically vibrating with excitement. “Where are we going? Why do I have a blindfold on?”

Louis leads him down the stairs still smiling, arm looped through Harry’s. He’s wearing an actual button-down shirt, one of Liam’s that sits just a touch too wide on his shoulders, and the entire thing is very, very exciting. 

“And why did you tell me to take my jacket? Are we going outside?” Harry doesn’t let up, smiling because he knows he’s close to wearing Louis down.

“We are going outside,” Louis allows, just as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Niall is waiting with Louis’s jacket – also Liam’s, and also just a little bit too broad – and grinning. 

_Good luck_ , he mouths. Louis gives him a thumbs up in response. 

“It’s cold,” Harry comments as they approach the back door, propped open by one of Zayn’s shoes. Louis feels the cool air wrap around his own ankles and, cheesily, hopes that being with Harry will be enough to keep him warm. 

“It’s February,” he responds, and waits until Harry steps over the threshold. 

Louis looks over their tiny setup, desperately hoping they haven’t forgotten anything. Zayn and Liam seem to have done a good job – all that’s left is to see what Harry thinks. His opinion is the only one Louis actually cares about. 

“Alright,” he says, and moves behind Harry to work the knot out of the scarf he’s tied around his head. “Ready?” 

“Yes,” Harry squeaks impatiently, rocking on the balls of his feet. He giggles when the blindfold brushes over his nose on the way down, and then stills completely. All Louis hears is the big, surprised rush of breath that he lets out. 

In the seconds it takes Harry to react, Louis looks over the scene again, and wonders if he’d gone a little overboard. It’s nice, objectively, the kitchen table that the lads carried out, with a pristine white tablecloth and those fancy silver trays with lids that gave Louis the idea in the first place. There are candles, too, flickering in the darkness of the evening, and it’s all terribly, terribly romantic. Louis thinks that’s exactly what Harry deserves. 

When he doesn’t say anything for close to a minute, Louis hesitantly reaches out to touch his elbow. “Harry?” he asks.

Harry flinches, like he’s been torn out of a trance. “Oh my God,” is the first thing he says. “Oh my God, Lou. What is this?” 

“It’s dinner,” Louis replies, smiling even though he still feels unsure. “Uh, in the cold. Rebecca said the cover should keep the food warm, though.” 

“Did you—did you cook for me?” Harry asks, and finally turns around. His face looks soft in the shadows, eyes sparkling like galaxies. 

“Mostly,” Louis shrugs, and prays to God he’s not blushing. “Niall helped a little.” 

Harry beams, smiles what is possibly the widest smile Louis has ever seen on his face. “I can’t believe this,” he whispers, and takes Louis’s face in his hands. “I can’t believe you cooked for me. And I cooked for you. And it’s our first Valentine’s Day together and you said we could move in together and.” He takes a break, presumably to breathe, and closes the distance between them to kiss Louis breathless. “I love you so much,” he whispers, and Louis’s heart stutters to a stop. 

Harry pulls away and frowns. “Have I never said that before?” 

Louis shakes his head no, silent, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs. Happiness spreads through his body in little shocks, a tingling feeling that lingers in the tips of his fingers and zaps underneath his skin, raises goosebumps on his arms. Harry loves him. 

“Really?” Harry asks, surprised. “But I’ve been thinking it for so long.” 

Louis breathes in, finally, and feels light as a feather. “Me too. I love you too. God.” 

And he pulls Harry back in, for another kiss, and another, deep enough to steal all his air again, passionate enough to make him dizzy. “I love you,” he repeats, to get his tongue used to the words, and suddenly doesn’t understand why he hasn’t been saying them for weeks; ever since they bumped into each other in the bathroom and something in Louis’s soul settled into place. 

“Love you too,” Harry grins, ridiculously wide. “I’m going to say that all the time now, just so you know.” 

“I’d love that,” Louis replies. “You can tell me all about it while we eat, how’s that?” 

“Yes, please,” Harry says, and holds out his hand for Louis to take. Louis leads him to the table, only a little wobbly in the muddy grass, and pulls out his chair. Harry’s eyes are honest to God sparkling as he sits down and pokes at the silverware, the heavy, ornate kind that Louis found in the back of the drawer. 

“What are we having?” he asks, hand resting on top of the cover as he waits for Louis to sit. 

“It’s, uh, chicken,” says Louis, fussing with his napkin. “Please don’t judge me if it’s shit?” 

Across the table, Harry looks at him with love written all over his face. “Never,” he says, smiling, and uncovers his plate. 

To Louis’s surprise, he’s actually managed to make a decent meal – certainly decent enough for his first try. The chicken isn’t dry, like Niall had warned him about, and the mash is only a little bit lumpy. 

Harry _ooh_ s and _aah_ s his way through it, and it doesn’t seem like he’s exaggerating at all. 

“This is amazing,” he says for what has to be the sixth time, moaning around his fork. Louis sips on his water and watches him in utter delight, feeling the warmth inside his chest grow more and more intense. 

Harry looks gorgeous in the candlelight, soft and angular all at the same time where the flames flicker and throw shadows. Louis can almost imagine him in a year, two, three, can see him as the gorgeous man he’s no doubt going to become. They’re all going to grow up still, even Louis, who fancies himself an adult, and the thought is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying – except then Harry reaches out across the table and takes Louis’s hand in his, and Louis realises that he’s ready for it; that he can’t wait. 

If things go well, they could do so many things together. They could sing, and record, and travel to places they’ve never seen; and throughout it all, more certain than the sky above them and the earth underneath their feet, Louis knows that he’ll have Harry by his side. 

“Everything alright?” he asks once they’ve both finished eating, just looking at each other over the rims of their glasses. 

“Great,” Harry answers. “I’d like to compliment the chef.” 

And Louis, somehow, knows exactly what’s going to happen. 

Harry abandons his chair, primly folds the napkin, and walks around the table to sit down in Louis’s lap, for the fifth time today. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry says, with little sparks of amusement dancing in his eyes, and even though Louis knows the joke, had been anticipating it, he feels himself blush under the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “You dressed up and everything, you look amazing. And I love you. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Louis tells him, just this side of breathless. Harry has wrapped his arms around his neck, humming something that sounds suspiciously like Viva La Vida while he nuzzles Louis’s hair and drops little kisses to his cheek, and it gives Louis an idea. 

“Hey, Haz. Want to dance?” 

“I’m bloody awful at dancing,” Harry giggles. 

“It’s just me,” Louis smiles, kisses him, runs a hand down his back. “You know I’m worse.” 

Harry laughs. “That’s true,” he says, and then, “alright.” 

They stand up, and Louis regrets not having the foresight to bring out the radio from the kitchen. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to mind – he pulls Louis away, into a small heap of snow that hasn’t had the time to melt yet, and wraps all around him. His hands ground Louis firmly in the moment, keep him thinking, marveling about everything he’s holding in his arms. 

“And I can’t explaaain,” Harry croons suddenly, right in Louis’s ear, trying to hold back a laugh. “But it’s something about the way you look toniiiight.” 

Louis smiles into Harry’s shoulder and joins in, humming the melody. “You take my breath away,” he sings the wrong lyrics, with his hand settled softly in the small of Harry’s back, and means it from the very bottom of his heart. 

“You’re one to talk,” Harry mumbles, head resting comfortably on Louis’s chest, and closes his eyes. 

Louis presses a kiss into his hair as they sway, content to listen to the hum of wind in the grass and muffled chatter from inside. He never wants to go back; wants to stay in this moment forever, until the world comes to an end around them. 

If somebody had told Louis, a few months ago, that he’d find everything he never knew he was searching for in a bathroom at an X Factor audition, he would have laughed. Today, with Harry cradled in his arms and the sky their only limit, he thinks he’s learned not to underestimate fate. 

“Hey,” Harry mumbles after a while, still swaying their bodies side to side. “We should hide Liam’s hair straightener tomorrow.” 

Feeling warm all the way to his core, Louis laughs. 

_~fin_


End file.
